


endings and beginnings

by contorno



Series: The Art of Seeing [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Past Molly Graham/Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contorno/pseuds/contorno
Summary: Will and Hannibal enjoy their last night at the cabin and come to silent conclusions.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: The Art of Seeing [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782271
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77





	endings and beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> so i think this is the last part of this series! adding anything else would just "overshadow" what i tried to do with the characters, specifically will, so i'm not planning to write another part
> 
> also this is my first attempt at writing anything explicit so let's hope that's not too noticeable lmao

The orange glow of the candles moves across the walls, quick strokes of light against wood and glass like the flick of a tongue. If Will looks at the ceiling, he can almost imagine the room is on fire, can almost feel the heat of the flames. Although that could also be the two glasses of wine he's had. Or maybe Hannibal has been looking at him for so long now that he can feel it on his skin, a warmth that starts in his chest and spreads until it reaches the surface.

Silence, then a low crackling sound. The song changes to a melody that Will recognizes, although, unsurprisingly, he still can’t put a name to it. His breath catches in his throat. It’s inaudible, but his expression must give his surprise away because Hannibal’s smile is a bit too amused for his liking. 

“Feeling nostalgic?”

Will huffs a laugh. He remembers how the air in the cabin didn’t feel like it was standing still that first evening, even as all the windows were closed. He remembers the smell of it, of hot wax and old wood and, somehow, water. It must smell like that now, too, but he doesn’t care enough to focus and find out.

“I feel,” Will says as he gets up from his seat on the bed and nods his head towards the middle of the room, “like we should dance.”

Hannibal raises a brow, feigning surprise for both of them. “How could I refuse?”

They meet halfway, under the broken lamp that Will has considered ripping off the ceiling many times, and it only takes seconds for Hannibal’s hand to find Will’s waist, for their free hands to entwine in the air. The old rug rustles softly under their feet as they begin to move. It’s nothing more than a light sway. The pace of the song doesn’t allow anything else.

Maybe it’s for the best. Will isn’t sure if he remembers how to waltz, even though Hannibal taught him less than two months ago.

“When I brought up your nostalgia, I wasn’t referring to the music,” Hannibal says, beginning to turn them in a lazy circle.

“Oh, sure, you didn’t.” He smiles, sliding his hand closer to Hannibal's neck so that he can dip his thumb below the collar of his shirt and touch the warm skin there. “Just like you didn’t intend for this song to play, right?”

“Such a clever boy.” He grins at Will's scowl. “Yes, it was orchestrated, but only to trigger nostalgia, not enhance it. I didn’t expect you to be so emotionally tied to this place.”

Will frowns for a moment before his expression softens again. He’s been looking around the cabin all day, at their two large backpacks waiting next to the door. When his eyes wandered along the walls and furniture, he found that so little of it was missing. There’s not a lot they found important enough to take with them. Maybe they both entertain the thought that they’ll return someday and find that nothing has changed. There's a certain romanticism to it, along with a child-like stubbornness. As if time would cease to pass, just for them.

“I wasn’t reminiscing, Hannibal, I was memorizing.”

Hannibal's smile is soft, affectionate. “A new room in your memory palace.”

“One that we can share.”

The tremble in Hannibal's breath is almost imperceptible, but Will doesn’t miss it.

“We can always go back to this moment,” Hannibal says, “and all others that came before it, contained inside the vastness of your mind, locked away with keys that only we possess.”

“You keep circling back to old memories and nostalgia.” He curls his hand around the nape of Hannibal’s neck to pull himself closer. “I'm starting to think you’re setting me up for something.”

Hannibal tightens his grip on Will's waist, the fabric of his shirt bunching up between his fingers.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be unreasonable to believe that,” he pauses for a second, taking a quiet breath as he thinks of how to phrase what’s on his mind, “I hoped it would make you feel inclined to seduce me.”

Will smiles. “Of course. You only want what’s best for me.”

“And, by extension, for me,” Hannibal adds, pulling Will closer to him by his waist, gentle but urgent.

With broad steps, Will walks them towards the bed until Hannibal’s knees bump against the edge of it. 

“Guess I shouldn’t disappoint us then.”

He doesn’t have to tell Hannibal to climb onto the bed – the man simply does so, plopping his head down onto a pillow as he waits for Will to follow. Although the sight of him splayed out on the bed feels familiar now, it’s as exciting as it was the first time he came across it.

Will presses Hannibal down against the old mattress, their bodies flush against each other, and kisses him. Although his shoulder is healed, he still tends to put his weight on the other arm if he has to hold himself up. It’s a subconscious decision, really, but someday he will grow out of it. For now, he leans onto his left arm and uses the free hand on his right to cup the side of Hannibal’s face and angle it so he can lick into his mouth.

Hannibal groans in response, the sound so low that Will feels the rumble of it in his chest, and tightens his arms around him. There is no space left between them to bridge and pull the other closer, but that has never stopped Hannibal – and Will, too, if he’s honest – from trying. 

They continue like this for a while, for minutes or hours or years, their mouths moving against each other. Occasionally, Will leans back and lets his face hover inches over Hannibal’s. To regain his breath, yes, but more so to watch as Hannibal struggles to chase his mouth and capture it again. 

He catches on to Will’s terrible scheme of exposing his eagerness after the third attempt.

“Will,” he says, breathlessly, “you’re not as funny as you think.”

Although he’s not quite smiling, his eyes are bright with unfiltered adoration. Will can’t imagine ever getting tired of the sight, no matter how overwhelming it is on some days.

“Really?” He suppresses a grin. “I think I’m pretty hilarious.”

The corner of Hannibal’s mouth quirks into an affectionate smile. His hand finds a resting place at the back of Will’s head, fingers weaving into his hair, and pulls him down again for another kiss.

There are some days where Will would not have let Hannibal get away with that. Instead, he would have curled his hand around Hannibal’s wrist and pinned it in place next to his head, his grip gentle but firm. He isn’t sure if that’s not exactly what Hannibal wants from him. Most of the time, Will wouldn’t even need to hold onto his arm – Hannibal would simply keep it there, unmoving until he was told to do otherwise. Either way, Will enjoyed the way Hannibal would smile at him, sometimes despite himself, always with a hint of teeth. So maybe it doesn’t matter.

Although he doesn’t plan to give Hannibal what he wants all at once, Will doesn’t intend to withhold it from him either. Not tonight, at least. Unless God, or whoever is in charge of their fates, has other plans for then, they will have the opportunity for many more nights like this.

Will repositions himself, so that he’s straddling only one of Hannibal’s legs, and grinds down against him, managing to keep his eyes open long enough to watch Hannibal’s mouth go slack. It takes only a few uncoordinated movements for them to find a rhythm, and soon Will nuzzles his nose against Hannibal’s neck, nipping and sucking at the skin there. If he doesn’t keep himself busy, he might get lost in how good it feels to move like this and continue to do so until they both come apart without ever touching each other.

He pulls back once Hannibal’s nails dig so sharply into his shoulders that he fears his shirt will tear. Hannibal’s face is flushed a light pink, although that’s hardly visible in the dim light, his bottom lip bitten raw and red. The side of his neck is embellished with purple marks and the occasional crown-shaped indents of Will’s teeth. He can never resist biting down, not hard enough to draw blood but so that it must hurt just slightly, and is rewarded with quiet hiss from Hannibal every time.

“Take off your clothes,” Will says. He presses a quick, almost chaste kiss to Hannibal’s mouth. “And get on your stomach.”

He moves to sit down on the edge of the bed. Hannibal follows him, then proceeds to get up and stand in front of Will. His hands reach for the first button of his shirt, but don’t open it yet.

“What about you?”

Will plants his hands on the bed behind him and leans back, lifting his chin to look up at Hannibal with a smug smile.

“Don’t worry about that. Just take off your clothes for me.”

Hannibal arches a brow at him, then begins to unbutton his shirt. 

Will knew it would take him a while to get used to the feeling of being with Hannibal, but he hadn’t expected it to take this long. They’ve been sleeping with each other for months so seeing Hannibal’s bare chest should not make his throat feel dry. And yet it does. Will never imagined it was possible to want someone so much that your body could shake with it, but now he has to clench the muscles in his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering.

Hannibal’s fingers work open the button of his pants and Will’s mouth waters at the sight. He wants to kiss Hannibal all over until he’s trembling, and only then will he bend down to taste him. He wants Hannibal’s hands, smooth but strong, exploring every inch of him. He wants–

“Will? Is there something on your mind?”

He blinks. Hannibal has taken off everything but his underwear and Will hadn’t noticed.

“You were staring.”

Will chuckles. “Well, what do you expect me to do?”

Hannibal smiles. “You seemed overwhelmed.”

“Had a lot on my mind. You’re very,” he takes in Hannibal’s body, eyes lingering at his broad shoulders and the marks on his neck, “distracting.”

“I imagine you were thinking about what you want to do to me, yes? Or perhaps what I could do to you?”

“I can multitask.”

“I suggest you try to focus on tonight,” Hannibal says and takes off his underwear. He smiles shamelessly. “After that, we will have all the time in the world.”

Will swallows, hoping it will steady his voice. He gives Hannibal’s hip a light pat.

“Alright then, big guy. Get on the bed.”

“If that’s the most romantic name you could think of,” Hannibal says as he climbs onto the bed and lies down on his stomach as previously instructed, “I would like to reconsider this arrangement.” 

Will laughs as he straddles Hannibal’s legs and runs his fingertips down the back of them.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you.”

Hannibal shivers under his touch, muscles tensing and relaxing and tensing up again. Will takes a moment to just feel him, his thighs, the curve of his spine back, the softness of his waist and hips – anywhere but the place that Hannibal must want him most. Only when Hannibal’s breathing becomes heavier does Will move on, tracing the invisible patterns his hands have left behind with his mouth.

He spends most of his time on Hannibal’s thighs, marking the soft, sensitive skin in the same way he had his neck and collarbone. After a while, Hannibal starts to rock against the bed, his movements so minimal that Will might not have even noticed if he wasn’t so close to him, and Will reaches up to hold his hips still. 

The sound Hannibal lets out is akin to a whine. 

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted me to seduce you.”

“I would argue we’ve progressed past the point of seduction. This is near torture.”

Will chuckles. “Really?” His hands, which are still holding onto Hannibal’s hips, inch closer together, drawing out the moment before they meet as much as he can. “You must be so hard already then, huh? So desperate and–”

“Will.” His voice is somewhere between plea and warning, but he pushes back into Will’s touch so it doesn’t have much of the estimated effect.

“Alright, alright.” He smiles. “Wouldn’t want you to start begging for it.”

“I wouldn’t.” The strain in his voice is barely noticeable. Any other person might not have even picked up on it.

Will looks at Hannibal splayed out before him, the stark contrast of his fully-dressed body against Hannibal’s nakedness.

“You’re not exactly in the position to make that sound believable. Besides,” he presses the pad of his thumb against Hannibal’s opening and feels him rock back, trying to get Will, who remains still, to move further, “I wouldn’t say that to the guy who has you at his mercy.”

Hannibal props up on his elbow and turns until he can look at Will over his shoulder.

“If I’m at your mercy, why don’t you take what’s yours?”

“What’s mine, huh?” He sucks the fingers of his right hand into his mouth, swirls his tongue around them until they’re wet and glistening with spit.

“Yes.” His eyes flutter shut as Will slides two fingers inside him. He folds his arms to rest his head on top of them, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. Every muscle in his body relaxes to make it easier for Will to move. “Always.”

Will sets a slow pace and sticks to it. Not because Hannibal can’t handle a bit of roughness – past experiences have shown that he not only tolerates but welcomes it – but because Will wants to take his time, curious to see how long he can continue with just two fingers, sliding in and out effortlessly by now, until Hannibal asks for more.

Hannibal, though, stays quiet except for the occasional content, almost sleepy sigh, and Will begins to feel like he’s merely giving him a very thorough massage. So he pushes in his fingers as deep as his knuckles allow and earns a quiet gasp from Hannibal. Then he moves, testing. 

It takes him a bit longer than he would like to admit, but he knows he’s found what he’s been searching for when Hannibal lets out a shuddery breath, burying his head further into his arms.

“For a moment there, I felt compelled to help you.”

Will shakes his head, laughing. “Shut up.”

His fingers glide over the spot with minimal pressure, stroking it rather than thrusting.

“I’d rather give someone directions than have them prod around aimlessly, wouldn’t you?” Hannibal’s words are a bit slurred, only made worse by his accent and lisp. It makes Will smile.

“I don’t know. Guess I’ve been pretty lucky so far.”

“Compliments to the chef then, yes?” His grin is audible.

Will rolls his eyes and, instead of responding, slides a third finger inside him. It shuts him up just the same, breath hitching in his throat as he pushes back as much as he can with Will on top of him.

He continues the way he did before, first stretching slowly, then caressing until Hannibal begins to rock himself back and forth, torn between needing the friction the bed provides him and the torturous movements of Will’s fingers. His back is sheening with sweat and Will leans forward and over him, propping himself up with his left arm, to trace the valley between Hannibal’s shoulder blades with his tongue.

The angle of his hand is different now so he has trouble keeping up a steady rhythm but Hannibal doesn’t seem to mind. He’s panting Will’s name with the same desperation one might use when calling out to God, full of breath and quiet and begging. Will thinks for a moment of sinking his teeth into the crook of Hannibal’s neck where it meets the soft flesh of his shoulder. He thinks of staying like that, to see if Hannibal could come just from being surrounded by him, trapped between the bed and Will’s unrelenting body.

When he sits up and pulls out his fingers, Hannibal lets out another sound that is dangerously close to a whine. If Will could think clearly, he would have teased him for it. But he can’t, and so he will have to remember it for later.

“Come on, on your back,” he instructs and takes off his shirt in one go, almost stumbling as he gets off the bed.

His clothes pile up on the floor, next to the chair that Hannibal had folded his own clothes on. Although it earns him a heavy sigh, Hannibal doesn’t complain when Will climbs back onto the bed without fixing his mess.

“I’ll pick them up later.” He kneels between Hannibal’s spread thighs.

“You mean that I will.”

Will pushes up Hannibal’s legs by lifting them at the back of his knees, then bending them until Hannibal uses his own hands to hold them up. He presses a quick kiss to the side of Hannibal’s calf.

“I’ll make up for it.”

“You always do.”

Hannibal’s smile is so warm that it seems almost out of place here, too tender for their growing anticipation. The few words of praise cause his cheeks to flush, blood rushing in his ears like ocean waves.

He licks his palm and his fingers tremble as he reaches down to touch himself, to prepare himself for what comes next. It feels so good to finally get some release that he gets carried away for a moment, thrusting lazily into the loose grip of his own fist, before he catches himself doing it.

“Don’t stop on my account.” Somehow Hannibal manages to keep his dignity despite the position he’s in, his legs folded against his body so Will can see and touch all of him. “I like to watch.”

“I think I have something in mind you’ll like even more,” he says and pulls Hannibal further down the bed, hands wrapped around Hannibal’s thighs as he does so, until there’s no space left between them.

When Will envisioned how this night would go, from the moment he heard the first note of the song, he saw Hannibal’s face as he pushed into him for the first time, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth open in a long, quiet attempt at saying his Will’s name. He has seldom seen his expression when it happened, always so overtaken by his own pleasure that he can do nothing but close his eyes to withstand it.

Unfortunately, tonight is no different. He slides in so easily that he almost goes too fast, almost forgets to ease both of them into it, and his eyes fall shut before he can cast a glance in Hannibal’s direction. It doesn’t matter. He’ll try again next time.

When he opens his eyes again, after taking a moment to calm his breathing, he finds to his surprise – although he really shouldn’t be – that Hannibal is watching him, teeth showing as he smiles.

“Pain and pleasure are impossible to tell apart on you. They’re like two sides of the same coin. Has anyone told you that before?”

Will huffs a laugh. “Only every person I’ve ever had sex with.”

Hannibal looks displeased with his answer, but not for long. As soon as Will begins to move, slow and careful at first before picking up his pace, all traces of disappointment have left Hannibal’s face. He lets go of his legs and wraps them around Will’s waist, one of them pressing insistently against his back so that he almost tips forward.

“Is there something you want?” Will doesn’t try to hide his grin.

“Yes,” he pants, “I want you closer.”

Will does as he’s told, leaning down and placing his arms on either side of Hannibal, and nuzzles his face against Hannibal’s neck. A hand slides up his back and into his hair, carding through it with eager fingers, before it tightens into a fist. Hannibal pulls at his hair, urging him to lift his head, and Will moans. He considers staying still, just so Hannibal has to do it again, but decides against it.

He kisses Hannibal’s neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Hannibal gives his hair another tug and Will moans again, though not as loud this time. He pulls back, brows furrowed.

“I meant I would like to look at you.”

“Oh,” Will says, so surprised by the question that his hips stutter and he loses his rhythm. “Sure.”

Will starts to move again, Hannibal’s hand still tangled in his hair and the other tracing his spine. It’s strange at first, to say the least. Almost awkward, although Hannibal would clearly disagree. He’s panting heavily, his mouth curled into a permanent half-smile. He looks as though Will is the most mesmerizing person he’s ever seen.

To Hannibal, he probably is.

It becomes easier to keep his eyes open after a while, and although he would prefer to look away, he takes the moment to study Hannibal’s face. As minutes pass and their breathing grows louder, Will feels something build up inside of him. Not at the pit of his stomach like he would have expected, but in his chest. Like a scream, but not. A sob.

His eyes burn, and it isn’t because he’s kept them open for too long. He meets Hannibal’s eyes and finds them glistening with tears as well.

Will can’t remember if he’s ever felt like this. Sure, he’s been overwhelmed before. Sure, he has been told to look. 

He thinks of his time with Molly. How sometimes, when they were both in the mood for it, she would press into him, the straps of her harness rough against the underside of his thighs, and she would ask him to keep his eyes open. She loved it when he managed to do it, kissing every part of his face until he laughed. But sometimes, when it felt so good that he found it hard to focus on anything else, he had to close them, and she loved that, too.

He remembers the surge of affection he felt for her in those moments, like a wave of warmth spreading in his chest, all the way down to the tip of his toes. But it was not like this. 

He has never felt like this.

“Will, I–” Hannibal’s voice catches him off-guard. It cracks before he can finish his sentence. 

He doesn’t need to. Will knows what he wants to say. He’s known for so long.

“Yeah.” He nods, lets out a shaky laugh. Then again, “Yeah.”

He leans down to kiss Hannibal and is met halfway. Their bodies move as if on their own, the pace building and building. Will’s cheeks are wet with tears. He can’t tell if they’re his own or Hannibal’s, but it doesn’t matter. 

Will leans back far enough to say that he’s close, but Hannibal doesn’t respond. Not with words, anyway. He pulls Will in for another kiss and wraps his legs tighter around his waist so that he can’t do anything but stay close to him.

When Will finally comes, he’s shaking and loud, even to his own ears, and he’s still inside of Hannibal. Although his arms feel unsteady and he doesn’t quite trust them, he pushes himself up, determined to help Hannibal finish as well. But he doesn’t need to. Hannibal has come untouched, trapped between their bodies, and Will, too wrapped up in the feelings of his own release, didn’t even notice.

“You kept your eyes open,” Hannibal manages between heavy breaths. His smile is bright.

Will snorts. “Like it’s hard.”

“The simplest tasks can be the most difficult depending on the circumstances.” His hand is resting on the scar on his stomach, as if protecting it. It’s almost fully healed now. “Sometimes it’s hard to look.”

He’s beautiful like this, almost unbearably so, with his chest heaving and his eyes still shimmering with tears. Will’s heart hammers in his chest, so loud that he wouldn’t be surprised if Hannibal could hear it, too.

“Sometimes it’s even harder to be looked at.”

A beat passes, a quiet moment of understanding. It feels as if time has slowed down for them after all, or stopped altogether.

“I find it gets easier.”

Will smiles. “So do I.” 

He almost wants to stay like this, close in every sense of the word, quiet and unmoving until the candles burn down and the room falls into darkness. But he knows they will still be beautiful in the moonlight, breaking through the windows to kiss their skin. Even without the blood.


End file.
